


Reminiscent, or Just a Song at Twilight

by Meldanya



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:06:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6702235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya/pseuds/Meldanya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Jack: "I wonder if the Twilight Waltz was ever a respectable proposition."</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Phryne: "It was the height of fashion before the war, completely above board, despite my father's patronage [...] Mother blamed it all on his dancing, that one whirl in his arms forced all reason from her head." </em>
</p><p>1892. The Twilight Waltz is in full swing at the Grand Hotel.  A story about young Aunt Prudence and young Margaret Fisher and the choices that they made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Casey Did Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> This started as part of [Fire_Sign's 500 Words You Should Know collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/500Words); it's evolved into a full-length story about young Aunt Prudence and Margaret Fisher, and the men they married. 
> 
> **#413. Reminiscent**
> 
> _tending to remind one of something._  
>  "the sights were reminiscent of my childhood"
> 
>  _suggesting something by resemblance._  
>  "the smell of fresh apple pies was reminiscent of the aromas from Gramma's kitchen in Middlefield"
> 
>  _(of a person or their manner) absorbed in or suggesting absorption in memories._  
>  "her expression was wistful and reminiscent"
> 
>  
> 
> I want to thank [Whilenotwriting](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Whilenotwriting/pseuds/Whilenotwriting) and [Sarahtoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo) for their help in reading and sorting out the kinks in this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Phryne: "I didn't know that you'd ever been here before."_  
>  Aunt Prudence: "A lifetime ago"

Prudie Henderson had never had such a pretty dress: dusty pink, puffed sleeves, lace flowers scattered across the bodice. Her father had given it to her for her birthday, saying “Rose for my little garden rose.” Dear Papa, Prudie thought as she adjusted her hair; she hoped desperately that E— that _someone_ would notice her tonight.

She slipped into Maggie's room, where her older sister was frowning at her reflection. Prudie paused; she always felt awkward next to her sister’s easy, laughing grace. Margaret looked especially lovely tonight, her lithe figure draped in blue velvet, diamonds set in her dark hair.

“Oh, Prudie! You look delightful,” Maggie cried, reaching out to hug her. “Looking forward to tonight’s Twilight Waltz?”

“Mmmm, so do you, Meg, as always,” replied Prudie, fidgeting with her gloves. “Maggie, darling, please … please be nice to Ned tonight, he's trying so hard.” Prudie thought Ned was the nicest and handsomest of all of Maggie's many suitors.

Margaret wrinkled her nose as she turned to look for her fan. “Edward Stanley doesn't need me to be nice to him, I could sit next to him all night, reciting advertisements from The Argus, and he’d be too stupid to notice anything different.”

Prudie flushed — that wasn't fair. Ned was sweet and kind, and utterly smitten with her sister. Maggie could turn so cruel when she was bored.

Maggie was rifling through her jewellery box. “I'm so tired of all these dull men like Ned Stanley. I want to meet someone _interesting_ , someone who’s seen a bit of life. I can’t stand these stodgy young bores who are only interested in the exchanges and impressing father.” Father kept dangling his young protégés in front of Margaret, hoping that she’d choose one of them. “Here, Prudie, help me with this,” she said, holding out her necklace.

Prudie fastened the silver strand around her sister's slender neck, trying not to feel too self-conscious about her own short one.

“There. Don't we look lovely?” said Maggie, embracing her sister and looking in the mirror, “Reminiscent of twilight and sunrise.” Prudie blushed; she had to admit that this new dress was very flattering on her, even next to her elegant sister.

* * *

The ballroom at the Grand was sparkling as the Henderson girls swept in, with their old Aunt Agatha tottering beside them as chaperone. Maggie was immediately surrounded by a crowd of young men, including Ned Stanley. Agatha went to go snooze in the corner and Prudie slunk against the wall, as usual. 

“Whew, so this is how the toffs live it up, eh, Hank?” a young man next to her was drawling. Prudence sniffed — the Grand was supposed to have much better standards. How on earth did these two manage to secure tickets?

‘Hank’ was tall, dashing and wearing his formal attire with casual ease next to his companion’s gangly awkwardness. He was staring right at Maggie, who was laughing among her beaux (probably mocking them all at the same time, as Prudie knew too well). “Who’s the beaut?” he asked, jerking his head towards her.

“Her? That’s Old Man Henderson’s eldest. Richest toff 'ere tonight. Don’t even try, mate — he’d ‘ave you locked up fast as anythin’ if you even spoke to ‘er, Fisher.”

Prudie noticed Hank’s dreamy expression as he eyed Maggie. “Just watch me, mate. Just watch me,” he said.

The handsome young man went over to Maggie to introduce himself — Maggie would surely just laugh in his face? Horrified, Prudence watched her sister actually blush as Hank whispered something in her ear, and then gave him a slightly dazzled smile as she gave him her hand to dance. Prudie had to do something to stop this — Maggie clearly thought he was someone of quality. Aunt Agatha needed to intervene.

She started looking for Agatha, only to bump into a dejected looking Edward Stanley, “Ned!”

“Hullo, Pru,” He was glumly watching Maggie and the handsome stranger waltz.

Ned was so sweet and decent — why didn't Maggie appreciate him? Prudie watched as her sister laughed in her partner’s arms. Ned sighed, and turned to Prudence.

He looked at her squarely for the first time all evening, and gave a small start. “That’s a lovely gown, Prudie. Is it new?”

She blushed the same shade as her dress; she murmured, “Yes, thank you, Ned, it is.”

Ned’s expression softened to thoughtful, “Care for a waltz, Miss Henderson?” He extended his hand, smiling down at her with his warm eyes.

As Edward took her into his arms for their first dance, Prudence forgot about Margaret and the stranger.


	2. He’d Glide Cross The Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He claimed that he had tickets, but all he really had was a vague connection with the brother of the doorman, who would escort them through the kitchen each night when the maitre d' wasn't looking. Mother should have known that spelled trouble."_

Maggie Henderson was bored, she thought, lounging around her father’s parlour. What was she supposed to do with her day? Saddle up the horse? Start yet another needlework project?

“Afternoon mail for you, miss,” said the butler, holding out the tray to her. Maggie seized on the letters eagerly, hoping for something interesting; she flipped through: dull missionary teas, dull hospital fundraisers, Rose McPherson’s engagement party to that dreary little policeman. Maggie tossed the mail onto the table with a snort.

She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for— it’s not like the mail ever had anything of interest. Was she expecting that Henry Fisher would start writing her passionate love letters after only one dance? She’d heard nothing of him and hadn’t been able to find out any information about him — other than some stories of an old George Fisher spending through his family’s fortune years ago.

Maggie found herself gliding around the parlour, humming the waltz that she’d danced with Henry, thinking about his piercing blue eyes, his contagious laugh, the confident feel of his step. She tried to check herself, telling herself that that she was ridiculous to lose herself like this over one dance.

Voices came from outside, and Maggie peered out the window to see what was happening: Prudie was returning from her bicycle ride with Ned Stanley. It was lovely to see the budding romance between Prudie and Ned; Ned had been a thorn in Maggie’s side for a year, following her around with puppy dog eyes and her father’s heavy-handed hints. Transferring his affections to Prudie was the most sensible thing he’d ever done — she deserved a proper romance.

Though Maggie could do without her father looking at Ned and Prudie all the time, muttering to himself, “So suitable. Very suitable indeed.” This was when Maggie missed her mother the most — when Papa and Prudie focused on their “importance of respectability” opinions.

After Ned left, Prudie came into the parlour with pink cheeks and shining eyes, and Maggie had to refrain from embracing her. “You look like you had a lovely time.”

“Mhmmmm,” said Prudie, dreamily drifting around the room.

Maggie grinned, “Looking forward to the Twilight Waltz tonight?” Prudie just blushed in response.

“Oh, Maggie, I have no idea what to wear … I wore my new rose dress last time, and this time … I need something spectacular.”

Maggie kissed her sister. “Let’s both wear our white organdies, you’ll wear a pink sash, and I’ll wear a blue.” They’d both look their best tonight.

* * *

Maggie’s heart started racing as they entered the lobby of the Grand — would Henry Fisher be back again tonight? Would he ask her to dance again? Next to her, she felt Prudence trembling, and she gave her an affectionate squeeze.

They entered, and Ned Stanley immediately came up to them, offered polite greetings to Margaret, and then swept Prudence off in a dance. Maggie smiled behind her fan at his rapid change from just last month. Her sister had made her first official conquest.

Margaret scanned the room, looking for the tall laughing figure with the fair hair. She couldn’t see him anywhere. Someone touched her arm, “Miss Henderson?” and she turned around hopefully, but it was only smarmy Elliott Fletcher. She winced: her father had been dropping broad hints about Elliott using the word “suitable”.

She shook Fletcher off and slunk into a corner, trying not to attract attention for once. Henry wasn’t here; she just wanted to go home, but she couldn’t ruin Prudie’s night. She found herself stuck listening to Rose McPherson’s boring inspector — Sandman or something? — drone on about police work, “So, the superintendent was very impressed with my initiative on enforcing the licensing laws and he took my recommendations to the chief. He said that he had never seen such good ideas before, and — ” He was going on and on about himself. Maggie couldn’t stand it — she fled the ballroom.

Maggie hid herself in the library, which was thankfully empty. She felt so flat — she’d been so sure that Henry Fisher would’ve come back. She was so happy for Prudie, but Maggie sighed as she reminisced how, last time, she’d been the one laughing on the dance floor.

There was a commotion at the library’s kitchen door and she sat up straight as Henry Fisher slipped through it. Maggie gave a tiny gasp of surprise (while also rapidly noting how his hair was tousled and his tie was undone).

Henry heard the gasp and turned around with a jolt, “Miss Henderson!” He looked taken aback for a brief moment and then composed his face into a broad smile.

Maggie waved at the chair next to hers graciously. “Mr. Fisher — I’m surprised to see you here. Why don’t you join me?”

He tilted his head as he sat down, “Shall we join the dance? Or, if you prefer, I’ve nabbed this from the kitchen’s secret stash,” He produced a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Maggie grinned slyly — her father ran a dry household, and she’d never had even a sip of champagne. “Let’s stay here — too many stuffy folks in there.”

Henry laughed, “Agreed! It is much more … cozy in here,” with a suggestive arch of his eyebrow. He filled the glasses, grazing her hand slightly as he handed her hers. Her hands shook at the contact.

“To twilight waltzes … and the pleasant company they bring,” he toasted.

“Indeed,” Maggie responded, and sipped her champagne. She had never had anything quite so delicious.

“So, Mr. Fisher, how came you here by way of the kitchens? Are you the bus boy dressed up for the night? Still learning how to tie your tie?” She gestured towards his state of undress.

Henry looked chagrined and chuckled, “Not quite the bus boy, no. I know the doorman, and he let us in through the kitchen. No need to waste the money on the tickets, and we can acquire better perks — ” he waved the glass of champagne, “this way.” Maggie laughed, intrigued.

“And as for the tie …” Henry paused and looked Maggie in the eye with an intense look, “I’m afraid I was in such a rush to get here tonight that I didn’t take the time to dress. I was worried about missing a certain young lady...”

Maggie shivered, “And … and did you miss her?”

“No … no, my evening is going better than even expected,” he murmured, edging closer to her. “In fact, Miss Henderson, I came prepared,” and with that, he produced a small bundle of purple orchids as if from nowhere, like a magician.

Maggie cried out and clapped her hands delightedly, and Henry presented them to her with a bow. “For the lady of my choice,” and she blushed as she took them. She thought back to the bundles of roses that Elliot Fletcher and other suitors had sent her — none of them were as perfect for her as these delicate purple flowers.

She smiled at him, looking up at him through her eyelashes in a way that she knew was incredibly fetching. Maggie purred, “Now, why don’t you sit here and entertain me? Tell me about yourself, Mr. Fisher.” She was pleased to see she had her usual effect, as Henry slightly flushed, and then gave her an arch look.

“Ah? I thought I’d told you last— I’m a barrister from Sydney, I’m in Melbourne for the season, visiting with my, er, cousin, Lady Granger, to escort her to the Melbourne Cup and, er —” he paused, noticing the expression on Maggie’s face.

“Oh, hell,” he swore, “You know I’m making all this up, don’t you?”

Maggie giggled, and said, “Old Lady Granger would sooner wander the docks than be spotted at the Melbourne Cup! And if you were her cousin, I would have heard of you at her awful tea last week. Now, tell me truly, Mr. Fisher,” she swatted him with her fan, “where are you really from?”

He blushed. “You’re lookin’ at a born and bred Collingwood bloke ‘ere, miss,” slipping into a broad drawl which startled Maggie. He then gave her a grin and reverted back to the more refined accent, “But believe me, Miss Henderson, I won’t be staying there for long.”

Maggie leaned a little closer to him, and murmured, “Oh, really? Please do go on.” She wanted to know _everything_ about him.

He could definitely talk, she thought as he ran through his life story: his father was related to English nobility, and Henry had big plans to use the Fisher name to establish himself. In the meantime, he’d done a bit of everything: he had wild yarns of his times on the docks, on sailing ships, circuses, magic shows, grotty bar rooms and railway lines. He’d seen more of life than all of the dull educated puppies back in the ballroom combined, thought Margaret.

As they talked, their chairs inched closer together and their voices dropped to whispers. Maggie stopped after a glass or two of champagne, as her head was spinning from Henry’s presence alone. She had taken her gloves off at some point, and now her bare hands had found their way into his, and he was gently stroking them.

His voice floated by her ear, “Maggie … Maggie, you are so sweet.”

She met Henry’s eyes — she thought of their waltz and his laugh — without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him. She felt a small start of surprise from him, and then his hands came up to hold her head, and he deepened the kiss. Maggie held his collar and pulled him even closer, tasting his eager lips and tongue. She crawled almost onto his lap, trying to get as close as possible, and all she could feel was his rough skin and the heat of her dress and the strength of his arms— and then there was a noise from the kitchen, pans clattering.

Maggie leapt off of Henry at the sound, grabbing her gloves and straightening her gown. Henry was looking at her, eyes glazed, panting for breath. “I — I should get back to the dance!” Prudie would throw a fit if she found out about any of this, and Maggie did not want to face a disapproving Prudence tonight.

The band was still playing when Maggie snuck back into the ballroom with a dizzy head and burning lips. Agatha was dozing in one corner, Prudence and Ned were ensconced in the other. No one had missed her at all.


	3. With the Girl He Adored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Aunt Prudence: I was here the night your father proposed to your mother ... unfortunately, I arrived too late._

Prudie was dreamily putting on her pearls, fantasizing about Ned. The past few weeks had been wonderful. Ned had taught her how to ride a bicycle, and they’d been seen every fine Saturday cycling through the park. She’d taught him how to play tennis, teasing him about how slow he was on the court, as he kept lobbing balls far over her head.

Dear, darling, dependable Ned. Father was always so pleased to see him — he kept saying that Ned would make a good name for himself. She gave a little twirl in her evening gown — she hoped he would like it, and wondered what he’d say, _‘You look like an evening rose, Miss Henderson.’_

The only thing currently troubling her was Maggie — there’d been a bit of a nasty rumour circulating about her sister sitting in the Grand’s library unchaperoned for an hour with a young gentleman at the Twilight Waltz.

Maggie had been annoyed with Prudie when asked about it. “Really, Prudie, I sat down for a breath of fresh air away from the stuffy ballroom. People need to learn how to mind their own business and not be forever inventing scandals.”

Prudence had left it alone for the time being; she watched with a worried eye as that fair-haired Fisher fellow kept coming back, and Maggie always saved a dance for him. Prudie tried, but couldn’t find out much information on him. She did notice that he seemed to be illicitly attending without a ticket, and she once spotted him playing poker and possibly drinking in one of the Grand’s back rooms. She asked her father to start inquiries about young Fisher after that; he was quite possibly a gold-digger, out for her father’s wealth. She tried to keep a close eye on Maggie each dance, but Ned’s attentions were awfully distracting — Maggie always had dozens of men around her, but Prudie felt like she’d snagged the best of the lot with Ned.

As Prudie drifted into the hallway that night with Maggie, ready to bundle up to leave for the night’s Twilight Waltz, she was surprised to see her father and Ned waiting there.

“Prudie,” her father began, “I know you’re heading out to the dance, but an urgent matter of business has come up, and Ned would like to speak to you quickly now. Can you spare a moment?”

Ned was blushing bright red, and her father ushered them both quickly into the parlour, shutting the door behind them. This was the first time Prudie had ever been fully alone with Ned, and her blush soon matched his. She played with her fan, waiting for him to start.

He was pacing back and forth, and then pick up the fire irons, and started thrusting them into the coals, looking for something to do. “So, erm, Miss Henderson, erm, Prudence … your father, erm, your father gave …”

Prudie's mouth went dry, she knew what was coming next. She went over and briefly touched his hand, looking up at him, trying to reassure his nerves.

At her touch, he met her eyes, and drew a ragged breath. “I have to leave tomorrow.” Prudie took her hand back, shocked.

Ned reached out and grabbed her retreating hand, “The company … there’s urgent business at one of our northern mines, and Nick Mortimer and I are being sent there for the next six months. Y-y-your father can explain it more.”

Prudie sat down, her hand still in Ned’s. “Six months.” she said faintly.

“Yes, b-but, I’ve … spoken to your father, and Prudence, dearest. I don’t want to hold you to any promises while I’m gone, b-but, would you do me the honour, the very great honour, of agreeing to correspond with me while I’m away?”

Prudence looked up with him with eyes shining. Ned drew a large sigh of relief. They understood each other. Ned sat down beside her, clutching her hand and murmured, “I don’t want to ask you to wait for me, dearest Prudie, but … if you wanted … if you would … it would make me so very very happy.”

Prudie blushed, and someway, somehow, managed to stutter out how she felt.

* * *

She had no idea how long they were in that room, talking of the past and the future. Finally, Prudie recalled that they had been heading to the Twilight Waltz. She turned up to Ned and asked, “Shall we head to the Grand and join Maggie? One last dance before you leave?”

Ned smiled at her with that kind and patient smile of his, and said, “Of course, my sweetheart.”

As they rode in the hansom cab to the Grand, Prudence was on the edge of her seat with excitement — she couldn’t wait to tell Maggie her big news. When they arrived at the hotel, Ned paused to pay the cabbie but Prudence rushed ahead inside to find her sister. She practically ran into the ballroom, pausing to look around. There were all the standard couples, Aunt Agatha was napping as usual. Where was Maggie?

Then she saw them — Maggie was in a dark corner, pressed up indecently close to that man Fisher. Prudence froze, all of her happy thoughts about Ned forgotten, as she watched her sister compromise her reputation with that lowlife. Prudence’s thoughts sank at the sudden possibility of Margaret eloping or worse with that man — she’d have to cast her sister off forever.

Prudie snuck up closer to them, trying to catch what Henry was saying, and then froze with horror as she did. “Margaret, darling, you’re the love of my life. There will never be anyone else for me. Please — please will you marry me?”

She had to say something before it was too late; she had to protect her family. She loudly cleared her throat, and stated coldly, “Mr. Fisher, you’re here awfully late.”

Prudence fixed Henry Fisher with a level stare, a gush of half-formed angry thoughts tumbling out. “I want to tell you, Mr. Fisher, that I do not approve of your behaviour in this situation. You had no right to come this dance and seduce my sister! You haven’t been introduced to my family, you have not spoken with my father. You have not behaved in a way a decent man would!”

Henry looked abashed; Margaret, who had been considering Henry, turned on Prudence with a furious stare. Her voice was icy as she said, “Prudence, you are speaking entirely out of turn. I am marrying Henry,” Prudie didn’t miss Henry’s gleam of hope as he got his answer, “and we intend to go home immediately and speak to father.” Margaret was still with anger, reminiscent of the day long ago when she found Prudie snooping through her love letters.

Margaret marched out of the ballroom with Prudence and Henry alongside. Prudence was trembling: Maggie just couldn’t throw herself away like this. Not when she could have her choice of any young man in Victoria. Not when it meant that Prudie would lose her sister forever -- she could never receive Mrs. Henry Fisher of noname street, _Collingwood._

Ned was still out front outside, in the middle of a lengthy chat with the cab driver (really, there was no need to be this friendly with a mere cabbie, thought Prudence, she would have to talk to him about this later).

The four of them spent a very quiet cab ride back to the Henderson house, Prudie and Maggie were fuming, Henry was twisting his gloves around, and Ned just looked confused at the chain of events.

“So, erm, you from around here?” attempted Ned at conversation, trying to figure out exactly what had happened.

“Er, no actually,” started Henry, and then immediately lapsed into silence when faced with a cold stare from Prudence. The rest of the ride was silent, Prudie fervently praying that her father would immediately send Henry packing and that Maggie would come to her senses.

Once at home, Henry turned and kissed Maggie right in front of Prudie and Ned. “I’ll talk to your father, dearest, it will all be right.”

Maggie’s face was stoic, “You’re not talking to him alone. I’ll come with you. He’s never said no to me before.”

Prudence knew that was true, but she hoped that her father would stand up to Maggie just this once. Prudence waited in the parlour (after sending poor Ned home) as Maggie and Henry went into her father’s study — she was straining to make out their conversation. She could hear heated voices, but couldn’t make out the words.

Not ten minutes after he entered, Henry Fisher was marched out of the Henderson house by their butler.

Prudence smiled with relief, thank goodness for sensible papa. The study door was left ajar and she could hear Maggie pleading to papa. Her father was ranting to Maggie, “You will not tarnish our good name by consorting with that kind of riff-raff!”

Maggie was fighting back, “Henry is not riff-raff — he’s going to do great things with his life! For heaven’s sake, father, he’s related to the Queen!”

“Well, the Queen has a relative who married a Collingwood barmaid, and this young man is the sorry result!” Prudie could hear Maggie weeping through the door at that harsh remark.  
  
“I absolutely forbid you to see this young man again, Margaret. I am not letting my intelligent, beautiful daughter throw away her youth on a knave like that. If you marry that man, you will never see another penny from me again.” The fight went on and on. Prudence gave up on listening and went to bed, feeling secure that her father would sort everything out, and that Maggie would go back to normal.

The next morning, Maggie was gone, leaving only a brief farewell note. Her father read it, stone-faced, crumpled it and threw it away. He didn’t say Maggie’s name again for years.

It was weeks before Prudie would have a day without crying.


	4. But His Brain Was So Loaded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You were always trying to take Margaret away from me because you couldn’t bear for her to have a passionate life. What happened to your passion, Prudence?”_
> 
> Henry and Maggie Fisher come to another Twilight Waltz.

Maggie found herself loving life with Henry in the rough and tumble Collingwood streets — they had a little tiny flat, and somehow managed to cobble together enough linens and furniture to make it work (she only thought once or twice wistfully of her unclaimed full hope chest at her father’s). The loud arguments and drunken brawls on the streets took some getting used to, but Henry was always able to put a humourous spin on things. Henry’s mother, a dear soul, had been born and bred in the area and was able to help Maggie through the bad days.

Margaret embraced her newfound freedom: they went everywhere in the city. Henry snuck her into every music hall, magic act and vaudeville show Melbourne had to offer — he had plans to make it big in show business, and Maggie absolutely believed that he would. On sunny days, they would spend all day at the foreshore, and then make love all evening in their tiny flat. Maggie didn’t miss the missionary teas and afternoon calls at all.

There were hiccups, of course. Henry had a hard time finding and keeping work — Maggie hadn’t been prepared for just how bad the 1891 crash had been. Making rent was  difficult and Henry was vague about where money would come from. She worried about his tendency to lose an afternoon in the pub, and stumble home drunk at six; she told herself that that was just what all the men around here did, and Henry was much better than most (and drunk or sober, she still found him charming). Once they got out of Collingwood, things would be better.

She missed her family desperately — every day, she wondered how Prudence and Papa were, if they missed her, if they thought about her at all. She would find newspapers where she could, and would pore through the society and business pages, desperate for news. There would be snippets here and there: father’s business was doing well, Prudie attending a tea.

Then her sister’s engagement to Edward Stanley was announced in the Argus, and Margaret let herself have a good long cry. Her little sister was getting married, and no one had even thought to tell her. She finished her cry, and wiped her eyes on her (somewhat) clean handkerchief. That was it, she was going to make her sister talk to her again — and she knew where she would find her.

Henry had spent the day out, and she could tell that it had been a pub day. She could smell the liquor on his breath instantly, but hoped he wouldn’t be too far gone for her scheme.

“Henry, darling … do you know what we should do tonight?” Maggie draped her arms around Henry and kissed his ear. “We should go back to the Twilight Waltz! We haven’t been back since you proposed.”

Henry pulled her in for a kiss, “Excellent idea, m’dear! I’ll be able to get Fred to get us in in a jiff — but … hold a mo’. What shall you wear?” All of Maggie’s evening gowns had been long since been pawned.

Maggie didn’t like what she was about to suggest, but she very much wanted to see Prudie again. She had to make things right with her sister. She leaned forward and whispered in her husband’s ear, “I’m sure a clever lad like you can figure something out.”

Henry’s eyes gleamed, and he said, “Give me an hour and you’ll be dressed like a princess.”

Two hours later, Maggie and Henry were sneaking through the Grand’s kitchens. Maggie was wearing a dress from god-knows-where that didn’t quite fit her right, but would do well enough.

She entered, clutching her handsome husband’s arm, trying to evoke a posture that would be reminiscent of her elegant entrances last season.

No one spoke to them, but every person she walked by immediately gave her a sidelong glance.

“Eloped to _Collingwood_ , of all places,” she heard Rose Sanderson whisper. Elliot Fletcher looked at her contemptuously, stroking the arm of his simpering bride. Councillor Phillips sneered; Marjorie Claremont coldly stared.

She felt Henry stiffen at her side at this response, and Maggie prayed he wouldn’t provoke a fight. Instead, he leaned down and whispered, “Shall we waltz, m’dear?” Maggie shivered, _oooh, yes, please._

The feeling of Henry waltzing her around again was almost enough to make Maggie forget the unkind eyes watching them — he kept up a steady stream of compliments in her ear as they danced and she didn’t think about how drunk he was. As the music came to an end, she finally spotted Prudence and Ned — Pru was saying something furiously to him in the corner.

Margaret grabbed Henry’s hand and walked over to them. “Hullo, Pru. Hullo, Ned.”

“Maggie, dear … it’s so lovely to see you …” Edward’s warm greeting died out with a glance at Prudence’s face.

Henry spoke up, “I understand congratulations are in order for the two of you! When’s the big day?”

“Oh, not for a while yet, I’m still sorting out some business affairs and —” Ned stopped again after another look from Prudence.

The four of them lapsed into an intense silence, and Maggie felt the crowd around them watching.

Maggie started stammering, “Pru …. Prudence, can I … can I just say that …”

Prudence finally met Margaret’s eyes, and responded with an icy, “What are you doing here, Margaret?”

“Pru — I — I miss you — I need to talk to you.”

“Margaret. Could you please leave? I have nothing to say to you. To either of you.” Prudence’s voice was dripping with disdain.

Henry stiffened at her side, and he started, rather loudly, “Now, lookie 'ere, Prudence Henderson — who d'you think you are — Margaret's your sister and she don't deserve to be treated like this.”

Henry's words were meant well, but they were coming out in a drunken drawl. Margaret's pride had taken enough of a beating; she turned to Henry, and pleaded, “I need to leave. Let's go.”

 _Damn Melbourne society, and damn Prudence,_ she swore, making her way into the lobby with tipsy Henry in tow. How dare they treat her like that? A few months ago, she had been their leader. Maggie paused and glowered for a moment — if Melbourne society was going to treat her like some kind of fallen woman, she was damn well going to earn the title.

“Henry, darling,” Maggie whispered, caressing his arm. He leaned into her. “Do me a favour and distract the concierge.” Henry caught on to what she was planning immediately: as a coordinated team, Henry chatted up the concierge, while Maggie snuck behind and grabbed the keys for an empty room.

Maggie pulled Henry back out into the lobby and gave him a quick searing kiss, to which he responded by lifting her up in his arms and kissing her harder. “Darling, let’s be quick,” she felt the eyes of everyone in the lobby on them.

They snuck past the ballroom and tripped upstairs, giggling, to find the empty room. Henry closed the door and caught his breath, “Maggie … Maggie, I love you,” he leaned in and kissed her again — he tasted of liquor and pipe smoke and all of the things that Margaret’s brain translated as _Henry_. Their gloves dropped to the floor. Margaret rifled her fingers through his thick blond hair, then moved on to loosening his tie without a pause.

He pulled back for breath and looked at her as she went to work on the buttons of his ill-gained suit, not wanting to stop for a second. Henry stilled her hands, and looked down at her. “Margaret … Margaret, you’re worth more than every single damned dull toff down in that ballroom. You’ll see, one day, I’ll bring you back here in the finest dress, and we’ll laugh at them all.” She looked into her husband’s eyes and melted, pulling him down for another kiss as his roving hands started to sort through her skirts.

* * *

Afterwards, they lay in bed together, in their illicit hotel room, surrounded by stolen clothing, keeping an ear out for suspicious staff. Margaret loved Henry, but … she didn’t want this sordid life forever. She rolled over and stroked his hair off of his forehead — she prayed that he would succeed in his schemes. That’d make Prudie appreciate him.


	5. He Nearly Exploded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Phryne: My father used to lock me in a cupboard to try and break my spirit._   
>  _Jack: Clearly didn't leave you there long enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick about the ages: I’ve deliberately left the time period ambiguous from here on out, due to the canon timeline issues. The children are all born sometime in the decade between 1893 and 1903, and it doesn’t matter exactly when for the purposes of this story.

Prudence looked out of her carriage window at the chaos of this Collingwood street — street vendors, filthy children, ragged veterans — and tried to picture her cool and elegant sister living here. She turned to Ned, “I just can’t, Ned, I can’t do this.”

Ned squeezed her hand, “Yes, you can do this, darling. I’ll come up with you if you want.”

Prudie gulped, “No, thank you, Ned. I need to do this myself.” She had felt ashamed of her behaviour after that waltz for months — she shouldn’t’ve have pushed Maggie away like that. She had been more concerned about public spectacle than listening to her sister.

“You can do this,” Ned said. “Maggie’s a good person, and she loves you. And you know how much you want her to be at our wedding.”

Prudie nodded. Their wedding was in a fortnight, and she had found the preparations so empty without her sister's good taste and spicy witticisms. Papa still refused to even mention Maggie’s name.

“If I’m not back within the half hour, come up and get me,” she told Ned and left the carriage, drawing her coat closer around herself. She was here to get her sister back, to make amends, and to invite her to her wedding (and hang social ruin). She went up to their door and firmly knocked.

The door flew open and Henry Fisher was staring at her, distrustful for a moment, and then an easy smile came across his face. “Miss Henderson, this _is_ a surprise.”

“Prudie?” came Maggie’s voice from within the tiny flat, “Prudie, is that really you? Come in, come in and meet my little Phryne!”

Margaret was in a rocking chair, holding a little baby, and looking at her sister with tired but ecstatic eyes. “Oh, I hoped— I’ve been wanting you here so much, Prudence. I’ve missed you so.”

Prudence swallowed, blinking back tears — she hadn’t even known that Maggie was expecting a baby, and here she was a mother. She felt a wave of guilt over all of the missed time.

“Maggie, Maggie — I’m so sorry, I was so stubborn, so rigid —”

Margaret interrupted, “Prudie, darling — I was so foolish, so headstrong —”

A torrent of feelings followed: “I should have written —” “No, I was so willful,” “I missed you so much, darling,” “I’ve thought of you every day for months,” “I’m so sorry,” “No, I’m so sorry.” The apologies went on for some time, and they only stopped by a gentle knocking on the door.

Prudence dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, “Oh, that’ll be Ned!” The two sisters looked around and realized that Henry had disappeared at some point during their reunion. Prudence ran to let Ned in.

Ned warmly greeted Maggie like the old friend she was, and the three of them sat down to properly fuss over the baby. Little Phryne, with dark hair, and chubby little cheeks, dressed in plain but clean garments. Prudie promised herself that she would never let anyone, especially Henry Fisher, keep her away from her sister and her niece again. “You, little Phryne, are too precious to lose,” she cooed.

“Although, erm, Phryne for a name? That’s ah ... unusual,” Prudence tried to keep the disapproval out of her voice, for Margaret’s sake, but she wasn’t sure that she succeeded.

Margaret looked at Prudence over Phryne’s head, her old vim lighting up her tired face, “I want her to live exactly the kind of life she wants to live, beholden to no man. I want her to scandalize, like her namesake. I want her to have the kind of independence that you and I can only dream of.” Maggie looked down at her baby daughter with a dreamy expression, “Besides, it’s such a pretty name, for my pretty girl.” Prudie smiled and kissed both of them.

* * *

As Prudence walked down the aisle on her wedding day, she only cared about two people in the crowded church: the first (and most importantly) was Ned, standing tall and handsome in his morning suit, smiling and waiting for her. The second was Maggie, standing off to the side with a damp handkerchief, holding a waving baby Phryne. 

Her father’s arm had stiffened when he saw Henry, and there were stares and whispers among the guests.

“A wedding is hardly a place to bring a baby,” she’d heard Marjorie Claremont sniff, “I left young Rollie at home with nanny.”

“I believe I saw young Margaret’s handsome husband imbibing liquor,” Hildy McNaster had breathlessly said, “at his own sister-in-law’s wedding!”

But Prudence didn’t care about all that today. She had wanted her sister there, and Maggie had come.

* * *

After that, the children followed in close succession for both sisters: Arthur, Janey, and Guy were the ones to make it beyond infancy. 

Edward was so proud of his two different sons. Mr. Henderson had wanted them to put Arthur in a home immediately, “It’s the only place he’ll get appropriate care, Prudie!” Prudence adamantly refused — she was not going to be separated from her little boy who so clearly needed her. Edward would not let her father even raise the subject of institutions around them; they were determined. Arthur was staying home, and that was all.

Prudence found herself turning to Maggie more and more after Arthur’s birth — her high-society friends agreed with Papa about Arthur, but Maggie never questioned her decision. As the children grew older, Phryne and Janey were Arthur’s favourite playmates; Prudence never missed a chance to invite them over; keeping all the children happy was more important than any Collingwood stigma from the Fishers.  

* * *

One afternoon, Prudence came over to collect Phryne and Janey. She let herself into the little place (she had never believed in knocking where family was concerned) and saw Margaret and Janey, sitting by the closet door.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

Janey got up and ran to hug Prudence. “We’re talking in code to Phryne!”

Prudence gave Margaret a puzzled look, and Margaret looked strained, coming over to speak in a low voice to Prudence. “Phryne spoke back to Henry this morning, and he locked her in the closet for her punishment.” She gave an anxious look at the clock. “It was only supposed to be for an hour, but he left with the key, and I’m afraid now that he won’t be back until after six tonight.” Prudence knew that meant that he’d disappeared to the pub. “I’m so sorry, Prudence, I don’t have any way of getting her out.”

 _Just irresponsible_ , Prudence thought. She said out loud, “I know Henry doesn’t believe in spankings or whipping, but Edward finds it works wonders with Guy. A few whacks with a switch in his study, and the two of them are as close as ever afterwards.” _And Edward would never leave his child locked in a closet._

Margaret winced and glanced at Janey, “Well, with girls it’s different and I’m not sure …” and trailed off, looking unhappily at the closet.

In the meantime, Janey had run back to the door, and had her ear pressed against it while doing a complex series of knocks. Margaret told Prudence, “Telegraph code. The girls have been teaching themselves it.”

Janey turned back to her mother and aunt, “Aunt P, Phryne is asking for your hat pin.”

“And what will she do with my hat pin?” asked Prudence, as she handed it to Janey.

“Just wait,” said Janey, as she slid the pin under the door. Prudence and Margaret stared intently at the door, but nothing seemed to be happening.

After a few minutes, Margaret shrugged, “I’m so sorry you came all this way for nothing, Prudence. It looks like we’ll have to postpone the outing to another —” and then turned in wonder as a the closet door opened and a grubby looking Phryne tumbled out, clutching Prudence’s hat pin. Margaret and Prudence exchanged astonished glances.

“I did it!” cried Phryne, grinning and taking a little bow.

“Where — where did you learn to do that, Phryne?” asked Margaret.

“Father’s been teaching me how to pick locks, but I didn’t know if I could do it with a hat pin,” said Phryne, handing it back to the flabbergasted Prudence. “I didn’t want to miss the outing! I want to go swimming with cousin Arthur!”

Prudence smiled with relief, knowing how happy Arthur would be to see his cousins.


	6. The Poor Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne: _Mother blamed it all on his dancing, that one whirl in his arms forced all reason from her head. ... I never believed her._
> 
> Life in the Fisher household, before tragedy hits.

Margaret was catching up on her mending, keeping a worried eye on the clock. Henry had taken the girls to the footy match, but they should have been back long ago. She hoped that Henry hadn’t been waylaid by post match celebrations.

Prudence would be here within the hour to collect them — they were supposed to be going to the Stanleys’ for a weekend visit. Maggie smiled. It could be nice to have some time alone with Henry — perhaps they could go dancing, or to the music halls, reminiscent of the old times — if only Henry would make sure to stick around, and not head down to the pub. She hoped that wasn’t where he was now.

At last, she heard the Magpie club song from down the hall, and smiled with relief as Henry and the girls burst into the house, Janey on his shoulders, Phryne clinging to his hand.

“We won, ma, we won!!” The girls went skipping around the flat, and Henry stopped to sweep Margaret into a kiss.

“We won!! And father has some good news!” said Phryne, with her eyes shining.

Henry grinned and pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket to show Margaret, “Some good luck today, m’dear!”

“Father put a bet on it and we won!”

It was an awful lot of cash. Where had he even gotten the money to place the bet in the first place? Henry leaned in and whispered to her, “Maggie, dearest, don’t frown. Think of what we could do with this — I can finally get my magic show up and running, we can get out of Collingwood for good.”

Margaret felt a quick leap of hope at his words that she immediately squelched, “Girls, get your things together. Aunt Prudence will be here any minute to collect you.”

Henry groaned, “Not your sister again. She always swoops in here looking like she’s entering a dragon’s lair.”

“She’s taking the girls for three days. It’ll be good for them! They’ll go swimming and riding.”

“Swimming and riding, hmph! Just spoils ‘em.”

“Prudie loves having them, Henry.”

“She only wants them around to entertain that idiot son of hers. You know that she tries to poison them against me, Margaret.”

Margaret bit her lip in frustration; Henry was being utterly unfair — she had angry retorts on the tip of her tongue, but she knew all too well that arguing would get her nowhere. Instead, she chose to plaster a warm smile on her face, and to stroke his lapel, saying soothingly, “Prudence has them till Monday. Won’t it be nice to have a bit of quiet around here? And besides,” she said, pointedly looking at the cash, “with your good luck, we could perhaps go out and have a bit of … _fun_.” She gave him a suggestive look,  one that she knew usually turned his anger around.

Henry’s face cleared, and he grinned and kissed her, “Mmm, you’re right, m’dear, let’s ship the brats off to their aunt’s.” Maggie was relieved that his dark mood had passed — the next three days would be so much easier if Henry would just stay happy and jovial.

Prudence swept in shortly after, and Maggie did have to hid a smile at Prudie’s habitual horrified expression that she wore whenever she came here; Henry wasn’t wrong about that.

“Aunt P! Aunt P! We won! Father won at the match!” Janey was gushing.

Phryne added, “The bookie gave him him such good odds and we won!”

Prudence fixed Henry and Margaret with a disapproving stare, “Gambling, really, Henry? Is this what young ladies learn in Collingwood?”

Henry grimaced while Maggie bit her lip and started to bustle to avoid a confrontation, she did not want Prudie to set Henry off again, “Girls, grab your things. Prudence thank you so much for taking them, I’ve packed —” and kept up the steady stream of chatter until the three of them were out the door.

Phryne skipped ahead with Prudence, but Janey ran back to the flat to give Margaret and Henry another goodbye. Henry gave her a huge bear hug, saying “I’ll miss you, my Jane-girl,” and sent her to catch up with the others.

Margaret turned back to Henry, “Alone at last!” and Henry swept her up into his arms, “Thank god your sister’s gone,” he murmured in her ear. He did take her to a show that night. But she never saw a single penny from those winnings.

* * *

On another afternoon, Prudence burst into the flat, clutching Arthur’s hand. “Maggie, I need your help! Nanny has up and left with no notice, and I don’t know what to do!” The hospital fundraiser was tonight, and she needed someone to watch Arthur (Guy, of course, was fine). “I’m so sorry, but you know I have no one else to ask.”

Margaret agreed (while suppressing a whiff of envy about Prudence’s lovely outfit and planned party). She and Arthur went on a hunting expedition to retrieve the girls from their pirate games — she’d prefer to just let them all play outside, but she knew how Prudence would react if she let Arthur mingle with the Collingwood children. Now she just needed to find a way to entertain three children stuck inside a tiny flat on a sunny day.

“Who wants to hear some stories?” The baking would have to wait.

She told fairy tale after fairy tale, with the children listening eagerly. Janey piped up, “Mother, tell Arthur the story of the Twilight Waltz!” This was Janey’s favourite story; Phryne rolled her eyes.

Maggie began, “Well, a long time ago, in a place far from here, there lived two young sisters named Maggie and Prudie. They were the best of friends, just like you and Phryne, Janey. And every night, Maggie and Prudie would put on their beautiful dresses, and get into an elegant carriage, then go to the palace to dance at the Twilight Waltz. The palace would be full of sparkling chandeliers, tables full of food, and musicians who would play till dawn. The sisters danced night after night, looking for their princes, but their princes never came."

Janey piped in, "And then one night?"

"Yes, dear, and then, on one very special night, Maggie was wearing her lucky blue dress, and Prudie was wearing her pink. And a very handsome prince walked in, and he saw Maggie in her blue dress and simply had to dance with her. Maggie didn’t know quite what to make of him — he wasn’t anything like anyone she’d ever seen. But then, he took her in his arms, and they started to waltz. And that one whirl in his arms made her lose all reason, and she fell madly in love.”

As Margaret told this — rather silly — story, Henry came home and she caught an anxious breath. Henry didn’t normally like Arthur (“Gives me the creeps” he claimed), and she didn’t know how he’d react, especially since he’d clearly been drinking.

“What do we have here, girls? Cousin Arthur here for tea!” Maggie let herself relax at the sound of Henry’s jovial tone — it would be a good day.

“Would anyone like to see some … magic?” The children all scampered over to Henry, delighted as he started making things disappear.

* * *

Margaret never let herself take the time to reflect upon her life, and her choices, but she loved her daughters, and on good days, loved her husband still. She had stopped believing that they would ever leave Collingwood, but always hoped that, one day, things might get better. On the whole, they were happy.

Then Janey disappeared, and their world went straight to hell.


	7. Would Shake With Alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prudence: How long is it now since Little Janey disappeared, Phryne? Arthur was still a boy when your sister went missing. He still has bad dreams, still awakes in the night, calling for her._
> 
> The aftermath of Janey's disappearance.

Prudence could never quite remember those awful months after Janey’s disappearance — except in dips and dribbles. The police sergeant’s inept questions. Phryne’s desperate searching. Henry’s rage. Margaret not getting out of bed for weeks at a time.

Arthur stopped sleeping — he would wake in the night, every night, screaming about Janey and the woodcutter. Prudence couldn’t retain any help. Any housekeeper who went so far as to drop a hint of “institution” was instantly dismissed. Prudence sat up night after night with Arthur, trying to think through a haze of exhausted grief. Edward would look at her with worried eyes, and sometimes suggest a vacation, which she always refused.

Phryne could always calm Arthur down, but Prudence struggled to handle the unruly, obstinate teenager she’d become, and stopped inviting her.

Prudence knew she should be taking care of Margaret and Phryne more, but she didn’t even know where to start. Edward insisted on footing Henry’s hospital bills, when he was found shivering in his own filth in the woods where Janey had disappeared. He’d been drunkenly searching for her, and had injured his foot. He’d never walk properly again.

* * *

One morning, Prudence received a call from a nearby police station. She marched in, demanding of the young constable at the desk, “I am here to collect my niece.”

The constable looked flustered, “Ma’am, your niece has been caught stealing valuables from a local shop — and the bail rules are as follows —”

“I don’t care what the rules are, young man. Do you know who I am? I can have your Chief Commissioner or any of his deputies down here in an instant. I demand that you release my niece to me at once.”

The constable darted a glance at a nearby sergeant, who gave him a grim nod, “Go get ‘er out, lad.”

“Yes, sir. At once, ma’am,” he stuttered and ran for the cells.

Phryne looked completely unrepentant coming out of the cells, sticking out her tongue at the poor constable as they left.

Prudence held off on her lecture until they were settled in her car, but then spent the entire ride home to Collingwood trying to impress upon Phryne the importance of ladylike behaviour and obeying the law. She suspected that Phryne was not listening at all.

As she brought Phryne up to their flat, Prudence was horrified by the changes. Filth and dust were everywhere. Maggie was just sitting in a chair in the corner, hands idle, her dark hair gone completely grey.

Henry’s voice rumbled from the corner, “What in the devil’s name are you doing here, Prudence Stanley?”

Prudence drew herself up for yet another battle with Henry Fisher. “I have just been retrieving your daughter from the police station, where she’d been arrested for stealing.”   
  
“I heard. I was planning on leaving the young bitch there to rot.” Phryne curled her lip at her father, eyes flashing, but said nothing. Prudence was appalled, and darted a look at her sister, waiting for Maggie to rush to Phryne’s defense. Margaret just continued staring out the grimy window.

“Henry George Fisher, if you were a better man —” Prudence started, planning to tell Henry off if no one else would, and then Margaret’s pale voice sounded from the corner.

“Prudence. Leave. Please just leave.”

Prudence looked at her sister, now virtually unrecognizable, and swallowed. “Alright, Margaret. I’ll go.” She slowly went down the tenement stairwell to her carriage, shaken to the core by the changes in the Fisher family, and sick with worry about her niece and sister.

* * *

The war changed everything.

Her boys were thankfully out of it: Guy’s stubborn left-handedness meant that the army rejected him. Prudence threw herself into Red Cross work for the war efforts, allowing it to consume all of her time not given to Arthur.

And then Henry’s old connection to the Royal Family astoundingly paid dividends, as the last Baron of Richmond was presumed dead in combat. Henry and Margaret had inherited everything: title, wealth, position, estate in England — they were packing their trunks to leave Melbourne forever (with no answers for little Janey).

Margaret was finally going to be part of the aristocracy to which she had always belonged; Prudence wistfully reminisced about her beautiful young sister, and how she would have glided amongst the English nobility, entertaining everyone with her zest for life. It was far too late for that, but Prudence prayed that this new life would allow Margaret to begin again, to gain a trace of her old self back.

Prudence helped Margaret slowly pack and saw the Fishers off on the boat. Phryne ran up the gangway a casual wave, Henry ignored her, and Margaret gave Prudence a quiet hug, saying faintly, “Goodbye, Prudence.” With that, they were gone, and Prudence didn’t know if she’d ever see any of them again.


	8. He'd Ne'er Leave The Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Baron: Your mother is the love of my life. I never wanted anyone else._

“Baroness?”

So this was Freemantle. The gateway to the west. Freo, as the locals called it.

“Baroness?”

She recalled that Ned had travelled all the way here once. She had the postcard still. That brief month of hope when they thought a lead to Janey’s disappearance had been discovered in Freemantle. Turned out to be yet another fruitless goose chase.

“Baroness, are you feeling well?”

Margaret started. She hadn’t realized that the under-steward was addressing _her_. She murmured something about being quite well.

“Miss Fisher sent me with this shawl for you, and asked me to remind you that it will soon be time to dress for dinner.”

Margaret took the shawl with quiet thanks, and turned back to the sea.

The last sight of her country. She supposed that she should feel something while leaving her homeland — Regrets? Homesickness? After all, she was … leaving the land where Janey had … where that dark forest was where she was never f--Margaret shuddered and pulled the shawl around her. Nothing. She felt nothing.

* * *

The purple velvet that Phryne had laid out for her sat oddly against her skin; formal evening clothes felt like costumes now.

Across the table, Henry was wearing his evening wear with the casual ease as if he’d worn it every day of his life. It could have been a match for the borrowed ones of his youth. It would have evoked the same sniffing reaction from Prudence, but Margaret marveled at how well Henry was still able to look at his age.

“Well, yes, it’s quite a tragedy for my dear departed cousin, but I am keen to see the old ancestral home again … Peashur Hall in Somerset … and see what changes and improvements are required since I’ve been occupied with my affairs in Victoria.”

Margaret winced at Henry’s pronunciation of Pêcheur Hall.

“Where did you say your family seat, my dear Lady Andrews? Perhaps I visited it in my youth.” Henry was focused on charming his neighbour; Lady Andrews was hanging onto his every word.

Beside her, Margaret saw Phryne roll her eyes at her father’s notorious smooth chatter, and turn to the gentleman beside her, “And what brings you to England, Mr. Tarrant?”

The quiet man next to Phryne jolted and stuttered, “I’m an actor. But I’m returning to enlist.”

Margaret had wondered why such a young man wasn’t in uniform, but looking closer, she realized that he wasn’t as young as she first thought — just a few years shy of forty, she surmised. It was a pity that he’d lose the handsome beard when he enlisted.

A giggle sounded from across the table, while Phryne resolutely ploughed ahead. "And what companies have you acted with, Mr. Tarrant?”

Under Phryne’s barrage of questions, his whole story was drawn out. He had been acting in England, but had gone back to Australia to sort out his mother’s estate. Margaret half-listened, crumbling her dinner roll in a way that would have horrified both her old nanny and Prudie in one go. A sudden thought occurred to her, “Why, you’re Bart Tarrant!”

“Yes, madam, I am.”

“My sister and I saw you in _Pirates of Penzance_ , oh, it must have been a decade ago. You were divine— you and Dorothea Curtis. Whatever happened to her?”

Bart flinched and Margaret realized that she had said the wrong thing. She recalled too late that awful story — the actress who had committed suicide on opening night. _First thing she had said all dinner, and she immediately put her foot in her mouth._

“Oh,” her voice softened, “I’m sorry.”

Bart’s fork moved idly around his plate. He jerked his head to acknowledge her apology.

Phryne, sensing the tension but unaware of the source, changed the subject suddenly, “So mother, shall we try the tennis courts tomorrow?”

Margaret was still surveying Bart, who was muttering to his plate, “tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow.”

She swallowed and responded to Phryne, “If you like, sweetheart.”

Across the table, Henry’s voice boomed, “Now if any of those huns and their U-boats try to show us up when we hit the Suez but’s what they’ll see what we Aussies can do.” _How many drinks had Henry had?_ She fretted trying to recall the steward’s refills.

Lady Andrews apparently found the notion of U-Boats hilarious, given her continual laughs at Henry’s comments. Henry was started to drone on about his relation to the king, “Now, Lady Fisher’s family, the Hendersons, you might know them, disapproved of our match … they never did view the Fisher’s connections seriously.”

Sir William Andrews was rolling his eyes at Henry’s multiple mentions of the Fisher’s royal connections. Margaret had to leave rather than watch the rest of this scene — she excused herself back to her room. Henry didn’t notice.

_“Dear Prudence,_

_I met a young actor tonight at dinner. Do you recall that marvelous production of Penzance that we saw with the girls … oh, a decade ago? He played Frederick and is still just as handsome he was then.”_

* * *

Ceylon.

The heavy shawls were set aside for lighter ones. Margaret wondered where Prudence had found such high quality of fabrics during wartime, but Prudie had insisted upon her departing with clothes fit for a baroness. She half-wondered how many of her own clothes Prudence had donated to their trunks.

“Margaret, m’dear, we’re heading down to the shuffleboard deck. Care to join us?”

She should really go. Try to join. Embrace this new life a little more. “Alright, darling.”

The shuffleboard deck was packed with activity. Henry was greeted with an enthusiastic chorus of “Baron!”

Margaret found it hard to follow the game despite Henry’s instructions; he kept interrupting his explanations to chat with his companions.

Eventually, the game lapsed in favour of a conversation about the next season’s social events. Margaret faded against the wall, pulling Prudie’s shawl closer around herself.

She spotted the actor, Mr. Tarrant, lounging on a bench, his book dropped to the side as he stared into space.

“May I join you?”

He nodded, and she sat down. For some time, neither said anything. Margaret watched a group of children playing beside them.

“I’m not sure if the baroness and I will be joining the London season, Sir William — I imagine that we’ll be quite occupied in Somerset,” came Henry’s voice across the way. Margaret felt that it was time to interrupt the silence.

“Mr. Tarrant … I must apologize. I… I had forgotten the dreadful circumstances of Miss Curtis’s death. It must have been truly awful for you.”

Tarrant did not respond for awhile.

“Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak,” quoted Bart.

Margaret searched for a quote to respond to his, “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bid it break.” _Not that I’ve followed Malcolm’s advice_ , she reflected.

Bart gave her a long piercing look, and then dropped his voice low, “She kissed me at the end of the third act and said something about how glorious it was. Hinting at her answer to my proposal, I thought. The next time I saw her, her dressing room was coated with her blood.”

A little blond girl laughed and Margaret shuddered.

Margaret slipped her hand into his. “My … my daughter disappeared some years ago. We never found what happened to her.”

Bart’s hand tightened around hers. They sat there for some time longer until Henry called her back to the game. “Margaret, m’dear, Lady Andrews is telling a delightful anecdote about Ascot! Do come join us!”

She gave Bart’s hand another squeeze as she got up to join the others. She found it easier to join Henry’s crowd than she had all voyage.

_“Dear Prudence,_

_The Baron and I played shuffleboard today. Do you remember how we turned our noses up at it when we sailed as girls?”_

* * *

The Red Sea.

The passengers’ dark jokes about U-boats were growing a little thin, but better than the sheer anxiety that ran through the ship otherwise. After the sinking of the Lusitania, who knew how safe civilian ocean liners were anymore?

Despite the simmering tension, the dance floor was in full swing. Margaret watched Phryne’s gliding figure go through the … foxtrot, she believed, with her partner. Maggie wished she had kept up with the latest dances.

Henry was dancing with Lady Andrews, who was giggling at his jokes again. She found herself, not for the first time this voyage, again wishing that she could channel Henry’s light-heartedness. He left behind Melbourne —and that dreadful forest— so easily.

The sound of a waltz caught her ear, and she moved her foot restlessly. She still did love a waltz.

“Lady Fisher?”

Bart Tarrant was actually smiling at her.

“Would you care for a dance?”

His hands felt odd as he led her out to the floor, as her feet remembered the song — _Casey did waltz with the strawberry blonde, and the band played on._

“Mr. Tarrant — Bart — I can’t foresee what the next days will bring, and whether or not this ship will ever see England, but … but I wanted to tell you how much your friendship has meant to me on this voyage.”

“It’s been an honour, baroness. It … it has been such a relief to make your acquaintance these past weeks. To be able to speak of Dorothea, _to pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow_ …”

 _“To raze out the written troubles of the brain_ ,” she finished, and Bart steered her expertly on another turn around the floor. “I do hope that you’ll consider coming to Pêcheur Hall when you’re in England.”

“If the Baroness of Richmond-Upon-Thames deigns to invite such a poor thespian, who I am to decline?”

“If the renowned actor can deign to visit this poor Collingwood family.”

“Oh, come now, dear lady, let us not stand so much on formal ceremony.”

“No ceremony between us, Bart. Never ceremony.” She held his gaze and refused to drop it, trying to convey her gratitude in a single glance.

_Still the band played on._

“Ahem, erm, excuse me, Tarrant, good lad, may I cut in to dance with my lady?”

“Henry! Your leg can manage it?” she exclaimed.

“One more hobble around the floor for old time’s sake. Thank you, good fellow,” the baron said, as Bart bowed his acquiescence.

Margaret felt the familiar encircling of Henry’s arms sweep her into the crowd. “Just like old times, m’dear,” he murmured in her ear.

She recalled back to their days at the Twilight Waltz and the way that waltz made her feel. The story of how a waltz drove all reason from her head — little Janey begging her to tell the story of the waltz over and over again and —

“No, Henry. Not like old times at all.”

His face fell.

“But the start of new times.” Margaret thought of the barony, Pêcheur Hall, the new clothes, the new life, a proper education for Phryne, a full life surrounded by new friends among England’s green hills.

“To our new beginning,” she said, and almost felt like she could stop thinking about that dismal forest back home.

“To second or third chances” Henry laughed. “To leopards changing their spots”

“To miracles,” Margaret added softly.

_Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde_  
_And the band played on._  
_He'd glide 'cross the floor with the girl he adored_  
_And the band played on._  
_But his brain was so loaded it nearly exploded;_  
_The poor girl would shake with alarm._  
_He'd ne'er leave the girl with the strawberry curls_  
_And the band played on_

* * *

_“Dear Prudence,_

_I waltzed today to one of our old songs… and I thought of that lovely rose-pink dress you used to wear”_


End file.
